Bye Baby Bunting
by Casscaro
Summary: New York 1977. A sort of sequel to 'The Coat'. While Spike's out hunting, Drusilla is home alone - almost.


The stars had left the heavens that night. The cloud-wreathed sky was cold and empty overhead, but below there were stars everywhere; stars on the slab-sided buildings, stars that twinkled over the streets, that swirled along the roads below, stars that spun and burned and glittered and danced with her as she twirled and swayed at the open window in her high, night-cool eyrie. They'd put on their party clothes and glinted gold and argent and rainbow-bright, a city of stars spread at her feet, wrapped around her in a cloak of light.

They spoke to her. She could hear them; hear their soft susurrations and crystal laughter. They told her hidden secrets, whispered a million bright stories from the dark, made her smile.

That night they were singing, soft glittering voices peppering the air, drifting above the calamity of noise from the city below.

 _Bye baby Bunting, Daddy's gone a-hunting…  
Gone to get a rabbit skin..._

Tasty little rabbit.

She giggled, danced across the apartment, her feet soundless on the soft, deep pile of the carpet, long dark hair flying.

Hunt and kill and taste and devour…

 _Hunting, hunting, Daddy's gone a-hunting… Daddy's…_

She stopped, frowning, and pressed her hands to her temples. Not Daddy. No. Daddy doesn't hunt anymore. _Daddy's…_

"Daddy's gone," she said, petulance pulling her lower lip into a pout. She fell on her knees next to the pale-faced woman, slumped, hands and feet bound, against the wall. Blue eyes flinched toward her, a whimper escaping from behind the tight, silken gag cutting into pale, soft flesh. "You see," she said carefully, "Daddy changed." She frowned and tilted her head at the terrified woman. "That was odd, don't you think?" The frown changed to a secretive smile and she leaned forward conspiratorially. "We used to play such games, such naughty, _naughty_ games…" She giggled and rubbed one hand slowly over her stomach. "Wicked Daddy!" The smile faded. "But he stopped the games. Wouldn't play anymore. Changed the rules before the music stopped. Not nice to spoil the games." She looked at the woman, head tilted. "Do you know what I did? No? Shall I tell you?" She leaned forward until her mouth brushed the woman's ear. "I made a new toy," she whispered. "Pretty little doll all of my very own. Tasted of tears and starshine and oh, so much hot, hot life…" She sat back and gazed off into the distance. "Loves me he does. Brings me presents." She cast a quick glance at the bound woman and looked away. "And dances… oh, you should see him dance… like liquid moonshine… won't stop the music, not my boy, not 'less I ask him to." She frowned again. "Where is he?" She got to her feet, swaying unsteadily, her face petulant. "Left me here, he did. Went to… to…" She gestured vaguely. "I forget. I forget a lot… Sometimes I forget… forget who I am…" She tilted her head, her eyes blank. "Isn't that strange?" She shook her head suddenly and her gaze snapped into focus on the bound woman. "Hungry now," she said, smiling, as her features shifted and she fell on her present with a growl.

There was silence. The woman lay still and cold at her side, blood drying in blackening rivulets on white skin. Even the stars were quite, quite quiet. No songs, no stories in her head – only her memories gnawing for release, tiny maggots in her brain.

"Sometimes," she whispered, drawing her legs up to her chest and hugging them close. "Sometimes… I get scared of the dark. Mummy used to light a candle… stroke my hair…" She rubbed her cheek against the soft tresses covering her knees. "And then…" She frowned in thought. "And then she'd sing… _Bye baby bunting, Daddy's…_ " Her voice broke and she buried her face against her legs. "Scared… of the dark… the voices tell me… _bad girl…_ I've been such a bad, _bad_ girl. Should be punished. Should be…" She closed her eyes tight and pressed her hands hard against her ears. "Make them stop. Make them go away… Spike… _Spike…_ " But the voices in her head laughed and mocked and talked of darkness, of letting go and falling forever and she was lost, a child in the twisted forest of her mind, wandering alone and scared.

Then the door opened and he was there, her bad, _bad_ boy, holding her tight, soothing her hair, bringing her home. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck as the voices faded and the darkness crept away. He smelt of city fumes and perfume and sex and death and… _something powerful_. She raised her head, wrinkling her nose with small, cat-like sniffs over the new black skin he wore. She smiled slowly, stroking the soft leather.

"Well, well, my Spike's been and bagged a slayer," she purred happily. The stars were singing again, happy, shining voices in her head.

 _Bye baby Bunting…_

 _Baby's been a-hunting…_

 _Baby's got a slayer skin…_

"Clever baby," she growled, pulling his mouth down to hers.


End file.
